


Discipline, Black Magic

by Tridraconeus



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Child Acquisition, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Consensual asskicking, Family Bonding, Fighting, Gen, Tags added as they appear, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: If you think that I'm going soft, you're welcome to stop by my office. Bring a blade.It's juvenile and foolish and Daud should discourage it, but he doesn't, and so the Novices chatter amongst themselves and dare each other to challenge him.





	1. Dares

**Author's Note:**

> been doing a lot of writing about my two favorite families lately: Jenos and his monks, and Daud and his Whalers. Also, I have summer classes and these were all mostly pre-written, so I'll upload new chapters whenever I want until it's complete. this chapter: Daud throws hands/swords with a teenager.

Today it was Cleon. He felt her excitement through the Bond. Her apprehension, too. 

“Who put you up to this?” He asked. She stared him down with her blade at her side. 

“Thorpe, sir.” 

He grunted. ”We'll see whether or not that was a good idea.” 

Already, he knew scattered groups coalesced in windowframes and on top of cabinets; for the silent front he expected of them gossip travelled awfully fast, and every gossip enjoyed a show. Perhaps the ability to transverse enabled it. The Bond didn't work for them the way it worked for him. Unlike them, he could peer into their heads and gauge what they were feeling, what they were thinking. There were pitfalls-- emotion was a snare, intention occasionally misleading, and on the off chance one of his Whalers was aware of his presence in their head Daud didn't want to make a habit of it. For that reason, Daud didn't check in through the Bond unless he absolutely had to.  

“I don't mean any disrespect, but--”

He narrowed his eyes. She tripped over her words.

“It's a dare.”

“I know it is. And if Thorpe had dared you to run naked through Dunwall Tower?” 

“I wouldn't, sir.” 

He unsheathed his sword. Slowly, they circled each other. “Why?”

“It's certain death.” 

“And this isn't?”  

Clearly, she didn't think so. Maybe they were right and he was going soft but it would be a waste to kill one of his men-- even if she was the type to take up a dare. It wasn't treason, not really. He dearly wished to sigh, and settled instead for lunging at her. She twisted neatly out of the way, a smooth and graceful movement. Too flashy for a real dodge. She was putting on a show--

he allowed it. Behind the glamor of unnecessary footwork and each twirl of the blade was training to make it lethal with intent. Their silent watchers in the rafters clung on to each flickering movement, each slice of metal through the air. 

He stabbed and swiped at her, blade either deflected with a movement of her blade so quick as to make him think it was sleight of hand or with a duck, a twist and the threat of a transversal. It wasn't a challenge so much as a curiosity. Daud knew the Novices had a long way to go; for Cleon, it was not that she lacked the training. She had the determination and discipline to make her shine amongst the Novices. She was just young. Like many young things, prone to foolish mistakes. She didn't take to showing off like she was now-- it was throwing her off. She followed after Rulfio in a sharp, direct style. She was sharp and direct as a person also. She was, though, apparently easily enough swayed by peer pressure to take _dares_.

“I wonder what Rulfio would say if I told him that one of his prize pupils was afraid to strike,” he goaded.

That seemed to do the trick and with a huff she lunged at him, an attempt to get inside his guard. He'd originally intended to let her tire herself out against a constant, implacable attack and had no intentions to let himself be pushed to the defense. Instead, he locked blades and kicked her away. She caught herself with a transversal and he heard the displacement of air behind him, twisted to deflect the flat of her blade. 

“Clever.” She lunged again. He repeated the motion of locking blades, forced hers down and away. ”But it's been done before. You'll need to try harder than that.” 

She dipped her head, an acknowledgement, and transversed again. Two so soon couldn't be pleasant on her mana reserves, and when Daud twisted to block her again no strike came. He kept going to refuse her a strike to his open back, assuming that was her next target. He was right.

Three! Three transversals in a row. Even he would balk at that. The strain of it showed in a tremble of her blade, how easily he shoved her back. 

One, two more crushing blows against her blade, her giving ground just as easily as he demanded it, and within the span of five seconds he had her pressed against the bookcase with his blade at her throat.  Her head tilted uncomfortably to make eye contact. The bottle-green lenses of her mask shone back apprehensive light; he saw his reflection in them, twin scrunched expressions of neutral disapproval.

“Krust duty for a week. Don't rely on your transversals to disorient an opponent so much. It's a trick that only works once.”

She nodded and transversed away, just enough energy left to do that. Daud turned around to look up at the rafters.

“Well? Get back to your posts!” 

Air fractured and ashes flew as the Whalers crouching in the rafters like overgrown ravens obeyed.


	2. This Is What Fatherhood Is Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black magic is black magic, but children are still children and prone to being foolish when unattended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe I love Domenico  
> Daud: @ the outsider look at this shit  
> I meant to come up with a snazzier title but I've had a long day.

“Stop it, both of you!” 

The Whaler froze. The street boy did not, taking advantage of his opponent's momentary lack of bite to clout him upside the head. Daud ducked in and bodily pulled them apart. The red coat and the blade at his hip finally registered to the street boy, who then also froze. His eyes went wide and terrified like a cornered rat. Daud spared him a thunderous glare before focusing it instead on the Novice.

“And _what_ is the meaning of this?”

The Novice looked down. The street boy scanned the alley, taking in the rusted rungs of a fire escape ladder and piled boxes leading up to windows. Daud fixed him with a glare again and shook him by the collar, then let go. 

“You. _Sit_.”

He did. He dropped to his rear and pressed himself against the wall.

Daud twitched his head in the Novice's direction. 

“Domenico, sir,” the boy replied, timorous. _Good_. He knew he was in trouble. “He called me a filthy shit-eating hound, sir.” 

“I see.” 

Domenico fidgeted, ashamed at being caught, though not ashamed at fighting. Daud knew there were some behavioral issues to be expected-- he was young, and allowed to run wild before donning the mask-- but he didn't expect to be the one dealing with them. How troublesome. He paced, gaze shifting from Domenico to the street boy; lean like a starved stray. He made money fighting, if the scars up his arms said anything. He made money stealing, if the ringed scars of hound bites said anything else. Daud finally came to a stop, towering over him.

He seized the street boy by the hair and dragged him over-- he clumsily followed on his knees, gripping at Daud's wrist with his hands to try and relieve a portion of the painful tug. Finally, when they were barely a yard away from Domenico, he came to a stop. The boy huddled by his leg, breath rattling in his throat. 

“Well?”

Now it was Domenico's turn to freeze. Daud jerked his head first at the blade on his hip and then at the boy next to him. 

“Finish it.” 

His words hung in the air, heavy and galling. Domenico hesitated. He drew his blade and approached, meeting Daud's eyes through the bottle-green lenses and then looking down to the street boy.

Daud heard Domenico's breath behind the mask, heavier and hesitant. He didn't want to.

Of _course_ he didn't. If he'd wanted the scruffy boy beneath him dead, he'd already be dead and there wouldn't have even been a fight. Daud understood the motivation behind it. 

Domenico hesitated for a moment longer before he spoke. “You told us that we shouldn't kill in anger, or just because we can. It's bad form.” Domenico kept his voice steady despite the shakiness of his breath. He still held the blade out, waiting for an order. Daud held off for now.

“So I did.” 

“So I don't think it would be good form to kill him now,” Domenico ventured.

“And was it good form to respond to him in the first place?”

Domenico wilted at the rebuff. His toes turned in. “No, sir.” 

“ _Hmph_.” Daud shook his head, but accepted it. He then roughly shoved the street boy back. The boy scrambled to his hands and knees from his side, eyes wild and the mercy just dawning on him. “Get out of here. Tell no one of this.” 

The boy mumbled an affirmative and sprinted off. Daud watched him turn the corner and then finally turned his attention to Domenico, blade now sheathed. He stared at Daud's feet. 

“Double duty on chores for a month. Don't get into a fight you don't need to.” 

Domenico whispered a _yes, sir_ , and transversed away. Once he was well and truly alone, Daud put a hand on his forehead and groaned. Billie had been enough. _This_ was just ridiculous. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud doesn't think the Whalers need more Novices. His men think otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the Thomas we know and love, though those so inclined may choose to believe they are one and the same. This is little baby Novice Thomas... A novel encounter and recruitment.

“What's that?” 

Thomas ran his thumb over the rune. “I don't know. I pulled it out from under a Krust, but I've only had nightmares with it around so I was going to throw it back into the river.” 

Sean hummed. “I'll do you one better, kid. I'll give you thirty coin for it.”

Thomas, sensing a business opportunity, raised his brows. “Forty.”

“Thirty-five. Shouldn't have said it gave you nightmares.” 

“Deal.” Thomas waited until Sean had the promised coin in his hand and then they traded rune for coin in short order. Sean tucked it into his pocket. Thomas put the coin into a pouch on his belt. 

+

“How'd you get to be such a good shot, anyway?”

Thomas grinned. “I found out that if you hit the Krusts just right it stuns them for a couple seconds, so I can grab the pearls and get away before they get me.”

“Huh. Bet you ten coin you can't hit the streetlamp over there.” Sean pointed at the streetlamp in question. It flickered unhappily, a target and knowing it. 

“Bet you ten more coin that you're wrong.” Thomas took his slingshot from his pocket and dropped his knee to pluck a hefty pebble from the road. Sean grinned back at him. 

“Don't push your luck. I don't even think you have twenty coin on you.” _He_ did, though, or he wouldn't have bet it. 

Thomas clicked his tongue and slotted the pebble into place. He squinted, closed one eye, brought the slingshot up and took aim for a second before he fired. It hit the smallest part of the streetlight with a loud _tink_ -ing noise and the pebble bounced off, dropping to the ground. Sean tracked the blur of the stone until it lodged into a gap between the cobblestone, and then whistled. 

“I'd hate to be a Krust with you around.” 

“Yeah,” Thomas affirmed. He stood a little straighter at the praise and tucked the slingshot away again. 

Without being prompted Sean rummaged in the pocket of his stolen dockworker's trousers and palmed over ten coin. Thomas flicked it up, caught it securely, and put it in the same pocket as the slingshot. Sean nodded to him, tucked his hands in his pockets, and jerked his head toward the end of the street.

“I gotta go. Nice seeing you again, kid.”

Thomas nodded. “Goodbye.”

+

Daud crouched in the rafters. Normally he wouldn't take one of his Whaler's words that there was a street kid he really needed to take a look at; but it was Sean, a Master, and a keen eye for talent at that. Nearly as much as Rulfio. Those two together made a potent team, with Sean rooting out raw talent and Rulfio shaping it. Daud had much to owe to them in making the Whalers a well-disciplined machine. There was only so much training he could do. 

Sean, dressed as a dockworker, herded the boy into the old factory. Bottles littered the ground and were even balanced up on the rafters. Daud was perched next to one. He didn't exactly know what that meant. He hoped it wouldn't have anything to do with him.

The boy had mousy, dusty brown hair and plain, fair skin. He'd freckle if Dunwall had sun or if he went outside during the day, or spent time outside of the sewers. There were the pale lines of scars on the backs of his palms and on his face and presumably more under his clothes. Blotched scars from Krust spit were on his fingertips and palms. Daud would have spared sympathy for him if he wasn't so busy trying to figure out what this situation was building to. 

“Stand here,” Sean directed. The boy obligingly halted and looked around. Sean stood in front of him and handed him a handful of pebbles, worn smooth by the Wrenhaven. The boy accepted them and tucked them into a pocket. 

“Thomas.” He said the boy's name a little too loudly so that Daud had no problems hearing it. “That's ten. I've set up ten bottles around the room. Shoot them all.”

Evidently this wasn't the first time they'd done this. Daud settled in and hoped that the bottle next to him didn't mean what he thought it did. 

The boy-- Thomas-- brought out a slingshot and deftly loaded one pebble into the leather strip. 

A bottle cracked. Shattered. 

And so on, the sharp noises of glass breaking filling the air, until the boy finally followed the line of the bottles and looked _up_.

Even from the distance Daud could see the boy's eyes widen in mixed terror and shock. He still had the slingshot drawn back, a pebble neatly in the sling, and for a moment Daud thought he would drop it and run. 

He didn't. In the split-second it took to seal his fate, the boy's eyes narrowed and he let the pebble fly. There was a breathless second and the bottle at Daud's side shattered, tipped over and fell to the factory floor. Sean's grin widened and he transversed away before Thomas turned to look at him.

The boy, then, knew he'd been thoroughly conned and Daud fairly felt him thinking about whether he should bolt and hope for the best or simply stay put and face what was coming. To his merit and saving himself a bolt in the back, he stayed put and even shook his wrist to deposit a pebble into his hand, slipped it into the slingshot. 

“Put it away,” Daud commanded. “I'm not here to hurt you.” 

The boy's nose wrinkled. He didn't lower the slingshot in the slightest. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Daud transversed to the floor and held his empty hands up in a gesture of goodwill. The boy didn't react apart from pulling the leather thong of his slingshot back farther. Really, Daud would be impressed if it weren't impeding his progress. “I'm here to offer you a job.” 

“What kind of job.” Where there would normally be the upturn of a question Daud heard flatness.

“You'll get food, training, and weapons. Maybe more if you prove capable.” Normally that was enough to entice hungry-eyed mudlarks into his ranks. This one wasn't quite so convinced. Sean was right; with a couple years, good food, and proper training, he'd be Master material. A good candidate for the Bond before that. But none of that could happen if he didn't join. 

“What kind of job,” the boy repeated. Trepidation-- eagerness?-- warred for precedence in his tone. Daud held his eye contact. 

“An assassin.” 

 _Sean was right_ , he thought again. The boy didn't try to ask if he'd be killing people or ask what would happen if he said no. He only stood silently for a breath's worth of seconds and then nodded. He let the slingshot drop, the pebble hitting the ground and the weapon going to his pocket. “Lodging?”

Daud cast his eyes around the area. He could feel Sean through the Bond, but not see him, and it was the work of a moment to summon him into an empty space next to the boy. “Fill him in and take him back to the base. We'll talk later.”

“Yes, Master.” Sean took the boy by the elbow and disappeared. When space rearranged itself properly and he was alone, Daud almost groaned. He didn't demand that they call him Master. He would be satisfied with _Sir_ , or _Boss_ , or even just _Daud_. He swore that they did it to be dramatic. 

He hoped Thomas would skip that particular habit. 


	4. Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud hasn't actually actively recruited for years; his Whalers do most of the hard work for him. He's not sure how to feel about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for implied rape. It doesn't actually happen but it's there.

“Please. I have coin.” 

Daud crossed his arms. Truthfully, he wasn't often asked to rescue people, let alone children; he knew that Dunwall's many brothels recruited and enlisted from any source. “What can you offer?” 

He dug around in his pocket and took out two pouches. “Five hundred coin, and I'll try to get supplies or-- or distractions, or anything. I'll do anything to get her back safe to me.”

“Coin is enough.” Truthfully five hundred coin was far less than he would ask, but normally his patrons were of the upper echelon. “I'll need three hundred more coin after the girl's been delivered.” 

“Yes, of course.” He sounded grateful. Daud didn't know how he'd get three hundred more coin when he's obviously been scrimping and scrounging to scrape up five hundred. He didn't care much so long as he did. “If she gives you trouble, just tell her Clancy Pickford hired you. She's-- she can be offputting but she'd never hurt anybody, I swear.” 

“We don't have to worry about being hurt by a child. Just wait by the dropoff zone. Someone will alert you ahead of time.” 

*

The brothel was called The Wild Rose and it promised feral beauty; the girl certainly looked wild. Her hair was straight black and hung to her mid-back. She was wearing only flimsy, translucent undergarments and no bra. Her makeup was chosen to accentuate her dark eyes, but applied in the heavy and angry way of reluctance and inexperience. Daud felt as if he should look away, but did not, and merely tipped his head. One of his Whalers obligingly stripped out of their coat and tossed it to her. She didn't reach out to grab it; it fell to the ground and crumpled. 

“You're Daud,” the girl said. 

“I am,” Daud replied. “Your brother sent me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her glare didn't lighten-- Daud would hazard to say that it might have even sharpened. What was the man's name again? Dammit. “His name was Clancy.” 

At that, she relaxed the slightest bit. Daud just wanted to get this over with. That her brother's name enticed her into cooperation was pleasing. She didn't take her eyes off of him but she stooped and reached down with one arm to pick up the coat like it was a sodden dead thing, slung it over her shoulders and put it on. 

*

“Can I join you?” 

“What?” Daud didn't stop walking. The girl trotted along at his side, the ends of her borrowed coat flapping with each step.

“I want to be one of you.” 

“An assassin.” He kept his voice purposefully flat. The girl nodded and then noticed he wasn't looking at her. 

“Yeah.” 

He continued walking for a minute or two more. His Whalers flickered in and out of existence, ensuring that the path was still clear. One coalesced next to him and passed off a fat pouch of coin, the promised three hundred. Daud would check later. For now, getting the girl close enough that one of his Whalers could transverse her to her brother was his priority. “Because no one will be able to do that to me again,” she continued, either unaware or uncaring that Daud was barely listening. “I could kill them.” 

“Clancy said you'd never kill anything.” 

The girl hop-skipped to keep step and huffed. “What does he know? He's just a brother.” 

“A brother who paid a great amount to see you home safe and sound.” That worked where nothing else did. She crossed her arms in front of her and quieted into a sullen silence. Billie would have laughed, Daud thought. She was busy staking out a barrister's house and Daud missed her presence by his side sorely. Billie would like the girl. She liked fire; she liked fight. 

*

Truthfully, Daud expected his merry band of insubordinates to immediately begin training the girl in the minutiae of killing things the second he turned her down. That it took them so long to present her to him was the slightest bit disappointing. Not as disappointing as them completely disregarding his wishes and implicit commands. He hadn't told them  _not_  to train her. Damn loopholes. 

She was tough. She'd make it in a gang. If Daud turned her away now, again, she probably would end up in one.  _Void_. She wasn't a rag-clad mudlark. She wasn't even on her own, like so many of the young ones Daud picked up. 

“What does Clancy say?” That, he thought, would be his best argument against it since obviously nobody in this damn group cared about his desires. 

“It's better than being a whore,” she-- he didn't know her name, so he simply dubbed her Pickford in his mind-- replied proudly and promptly. 

Void. The only way he could turn her down now and not feel wasteful was if she failed the tests all prospective Whalers went through.

At least she was already trained. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a Kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
